


Tilted

by agarina_amigara



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e05 Coquilles, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Time Jump, Top Will Graham, that mirror in hannibal’s room lives in my mind rent free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agarina_amigara/pseuds/agarina_amigara
Summary: the prompt for day 9 of fcktober: "mirror"The single time Will sees the angled mirror facing the bed in Hannibal's Baltimore home never truly leaves his mind.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 243





	Tilted

Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen is a bright, open room that feels like the most comfortable space Will has been in since before he emptied a clip into Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ torso. It isn’t unlike a hug, the way it makes him feel. It feels just as cozy. Just as safe.

After the night he’s had, it’s a shocking relief.

Will’s feet ache where they sit inside his boots. He has a few scratches on his arms he assumes he acquired walking through underbrush, but there’s really no way to tell. His body being up and moving when his mind isn’t in it leaves him more frustrated than it does scared. Not that he isn’t scared too. So much of him already tied up in being Somewhere Else, this is just the nail in the coffin at the funeral for his mental health.

The coffee is much needed, even if it does come out of the most ridiculous contraption he’s ever seen.

Will tips his glass mug towards it, clears his throat. “If I didn’t just see you making coffee in there, I’d think you were brewing potions.”

Hannibal gives him a half smile. _His hair is kind of stupid in the morning_ , Will muses. He likes it. There’s something about seeing Hannibal a little unkempt that intrigues him. Even if he’s pretty sure the robe he’s wrapped tight in is actual velvet. He thinks on the ratty terrycloth robe with more than one hole in it hooked to the back of his bathroom door at home and huffs a laugh into his mug as he takes another drink.

“I find this to be the superior way of making coffee,” Hannibal tells him. “I prefer a hands-on approach to mostly anything.”

Will nods. “That come from being a surgeon?”

Another smile. Hannibal’s as warm as the room.

“That comes from being myself,” Hannibal says.

They stand in silence for a moment. Will is grateful for it and uses it to take in parts of the room he hasn’t noticed. Behind Hannibal he can see glass paned double doors, and beyond them a yard. He wonders what kind of backyard a man like Hannibal has. He imagines a garden, a sitting area under a tree for reading. He finds he’d like to see it. He’s more and more curious about this person he claimed to find uninteresting.

“This is a nice place you’ve got,” Will says. He cringes into the mug he’s brought to his mouth. _Not my best line,_ he thinks. “It looks like it’s yours.”

Hannibal quirks a brow. His eyebrows are so light they almost disappear, the hair more fair than his surprisingly tan skin. Will ponders on where exactly Hannibal is from. He could probably find out by doing a quick internet search but the prospect of Hannibal opening up to him about himself is more than intriguing. “Our homes tend to reflect us in many ways,” Hannibal says. He sets his half-drained mug on the counter. “A cluttered space may reflect a cluttered life. I try to keep my space clean and orderly. Is that what you mean by it looking like it’s mine?”

The smile Will gives tugs at his face. His skin feels dry and tight from being out in the cold all night.

“I mean it looks… _grandiose_.”

The look they share makes it clear that while Will is mostly pulling Hannibal’s leg with the statement, there is truth to it. Hannibal takes no offense. There’s more of that smiling that Will is getting more and more comfortable with. Hannibal makes him feel easy in a way other people rarely do. Will wonders vaguely if he has any history training horses for riding.

“Would you like a tour?” he asks Will.

Though they should both be getting on with starting their day in an official sense, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Will imagines a house like this has at least four bedrooms and, the backwater boy he is, he finds himself curious.

“Sure,” he answers, setting his mug on the countertop. He has a ridiculous urge to ask to wash dishes.

Hannibal comes around the counter and gestures with his arm for Will to walk in front of him. They move through an archway into a cobalt blue dining room with a muraled wall covered in herbs. Will listens half-heartedly as Hannibal explains how he came about buying this house, how much work it took renovators to bring his vision to life. Will is too distracted, thinking _is that Leda and the fucking Swan?_ to listen to Hannibal fully, but it’s nice having this much of the man’s attention all the same.

Hannibal leads them back through the sliding doors of the dining room and up a flight of stairs with ornate railing. Above him, Hannibal is close enough to touch. Realizing that’s what he’s thinking about confounds Will nearly as much as the fact that they seem to be ascending to Hannibal’s inner sanctuary right off the bat when Will is sure there’s at least three reading nooks downstairs that they’ve avoided altogether.

Hannibal’s bedroom isn’t blue, as Will first thinks when he enters the doorway, but it might as well be for how low the painted ceiling comes down in some places. It’s a serene color, instantly calming, the angles of the ceiling giving the effect of a cozy alcove regardless of the fact that Will thinks he could fit his entire living room/bedroom combo in here. He notices that the bed is made, sheets tucked perfectly, though he had assumed he had roused Hannibal from his sleep with his early morning house call. Maybe he was already awake.

“I don’t spend as much time in this room as I would like, I’m afraid,” Hannibal is telling him. He stands with his hands in the deep pockets of his robe, looking over the room like a king surveying their land.

Will chuckles nervously. Why is he nervous?

“And here I assumed I was the only one between us with sleeping difficulties.”

Hannibal smirks. “Sleep doesn’t evade me for the same reasons it does you, Will. The cogs of my mind don’t grind against one another and screech in the night. I have no issue getting to sleep, my body simply needs very few hours of rest before it’s awake and ready for whatever I have planned for it next.”

That’s flirtatious. Will is sure that’s flirtatious. Sure, it’s been at least a year since he can remember being aware of someone coming on to him, but he is after all a grown man with experience and a plethora of mirror neurons. He knows what that curl in Hannibal’s lip means, the way he looks at him from underneath his (extremely soft looking) bangs. It doesn’t unsettle Will as much as it maybe should.

What _does_ throw him off is what he sees when he looks at the (completely unnecessary) sitting area at the foot of Hannibal’s bed.

There’s a stretched, gilded mirror with three panels above the fireplace facing the bed. The frame is purposefully tarnished brass and the edges of glass are spotted with age. _Intentional_ , Will thinks. Nothing in Hannibal’s life is less than perfect unless he enjoys those imperfections. Will wonders if he should include himself amongst those things.

The mirror is tilted.

There must be lengthened supports at the top two corners holding it away from the wall. The angle makes the aged glass reflect the bed and settee at the foot of it perfectly. The implications of it make Will a little dizzy. He can imagine Hannibal sitting on the blue settee, unbuttoning his cuffs after a long day. The Hannibal in his mind looks up and there in the angled mirror, their eyes lock. He smiles. There’s blood on his teeth.

Will clears his throat, breaking the silence that has stretched between them.

As empathetic as Will is, Hannibal isn’t far behind him. He gives Will a look that he can’t quite read and then they’re going back out the door from which they came. The dark hallway they re-enter is filling with morning light and Will lets it soothe his twitchy nerves. He follows alongside Hannibal throughout the rest of his quiet house.

His eyes never truly leave the reflected surface in Hannibal’s bedroom.

~

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

It’s nearing seven a.m. and the Pathumwan district of central Bangkok is already coming alive outside their floor to ceiling windows. They arrived at their latest hideaway in the night, tired from the constant travel that is their lives on the run. For a moment Will thinks he fell asleep in the car again but then he feels Hannibal’s arm tighten around his naked middle. Will smiles. It’s no surprise that Hannibal’s awake. He sees for himself every day now just how little sleep Hannibal needs to feel refreshed. The fact that he lies prone in bed for hours so as not to disturb Will, who needs at least 7 hours or he wants to shoot someone, says as much as when Hannibal cups his face like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.

Will lets the eye not mashed against Hannibal’s chest crack open as sunlight creeps in through the partially open curtains. From here most of what he can see are the coarse hairs that cover the skin over Hannibal’s heart, but beyond that he can see their newest bedroom in the light for the first time.

The walls are almost the same color as Hannibal’s ceiling was in Baltimore.

He’s instantly transported there. He can feel the fire from the hearth warming his skin; in reality it’s Hannibal’s own. He can run his hand over the smoothness of the duvet though he doesn’t know its texture, as he never touched it the one time he was inside Hannibal’s inner sanctum. He likens it to the fine linens he’s gotten used to in Hannibal’s company these last months and it’s almost as good as if he’s really there.

Lastly, he lets himself look above the fireplace. He is small in the reflection, kneeling in the middle of Hannibal’s bed. His eyes are bright with hunger.

Hannibal, the real one, snaps him back to reality.

“Did you sleep well, _mylimasis_?” he asks. Will inwardly does a combination of blushing and wincing. He still isn’t used to the pet names (dear one, clever boy, darling, a half a dozen terms in French, Italian, Russian, Japanese; and once, in the dark, with blood covering their hands and forearms: “ _little beast_ ”).

Will nods against the expanse of Hannibal’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat when they lay like this. It is even and measured. It always is. _Well,_ Will thinks, _almost always._

“I was just thinking about your room in Baltimore,” Will drawls, voice thick with sleep. “This room is the same color.”

He feels more than sees Hannibal cocking his head. “I suppose it is,” Hannibal says. The tone is almost wistful.

Will brings the hand that rests on Hannibal’s abdomen up his chest. Touching the hair there has become something that both lulls and excites him, the novelty of his partner’s masculine features never ceasing to give him a thrill. “We have a fireplace too. All that’s missing is a pointless sitting area and a sex mirror.”

Hannibal looks down at him and Will returns his gaze. There’s the same playfulness behind his brown eyes as there always is, the curiosity of a cat, even this early in the morning. “I beg your pardon?”

Will has to chuckle at the incredulous look on Hannibal’s face.

“I know what I saw,” Will says. He steeples his fingers in Hannibal’s chest hair, swirls the tips in the silver. “I was only in there the once but I know why you had a tilted mirror facing the bed, Hannibal.”

Hannibal gives him that grin he always does when Will surprises him.

“And that reason is because I had a… _sex mirror_?” Hannibal doesn’t laugh around the words but he might as well with the way he imitates Will’s inflection. They’ve gotten so good at imitating each other Will thinks some of his traits might have started out as Hannibal’s.

“You’re a flat out narcissist,” Will says, pushing himself up on his arm that has fallen asleep tucked underneath him. He leans up on his elbow, bends at the neck to place a kiss against Hannibal’s left nipple. He watches wistfully as it hardens in the already balmy morning air. “To be surprised that you’d enjoy seeing yourself during sex would make me seem like an idiot who doesn’t know you at all. I was surprised though,” Will sits up fully, rolls his bad shoulder. The healing process had been anything but easy, but Hannibal’s daily physical therapy exercises have helped. “I didn’t know you as well then. I remember thinking it was very Patrick Bateman of you.”

Hannibal chuckles at that, leaning up on his elbows to watch Will climb out of bed. His pale skin catches in the morning light. It makes him look like he’s glowing.

“Do you truly think the mirror was only so that I might view myself?” Hannibal asks as he watches Will stretch in front of the fireplace. “Could there not be a less conceited reason? Or do you envision me as Narcissus, wasting away in front of his own reflection?” 

Will thinks on that, bending his torso from side to side. Sometimes upon waking he feels like his body has aged half a lifetime, such is the toll their fall into the Atlantic took on him.

“I don’t think you’re that bad off, no.”

Hannibal snorts.

“I don’t!” Will continues. “You’d never reject me as he did Echo.” A teasing smile passes between them. Will bends to touch his toes, only half ignoring the way Hannibal leans up further in bed to get a better view. “I guess when I really think about it, no, it isn’t just to see yourself.” A vision of Hannibal underneath him passes through his mind. He is rapt, his face tilted up in reverence. His eyes flit across the features of Will’s face as Will pushes into him. _Exquisite_ , he groans. Will can’t help the shiver that passes through him. “It’s not just yourself that you watch.”

Hannibal gives him a look Will can’t quite decipher and rises out of bed to join him. He presses a kiss to Will’s scarred brow before continuing across the room to a chest of drawers from which he pulls out a pair of grey lounge pants and begins putting them on. “Have you ever made love in front of a mirror, Will?” he asks, tying the drawstring that holds his pants over his hips.

Will snorts a laugh. It almost sounds bitter. “Do I seem like the type that has?”

Hannibal makes no effort to reply to that. For the most part they’ve kept their past sexual experiences to themselves. What they do feels like more than sex. It leaves them unwilling to draw comparisons to anything else they’ve ever done. Still, Hannibal knows he’s the first man Will has bedded. Will knows he’s the first person Hannibal has ever said “I love you” to during sex. They both are aware that Will’s history rarely involved anything that could be considered experimental.

Will finishes his stretching with a long sigh. He joins Hannibal in getting dressed and it seems to him like it’s the end of the conversation.

It’s not.

~

Three days later they’re coming back from the market and the doorway is blocked by a large, flat cardboard box covered in a red piece of tape that says FRAGILE in four different languages.

Will doesn’t think it’s the most unusual thing in the world—for as little time as they spend in each house before relocating, Hannibal still finds it necessary to decorate each one as their forever home. He simply raises an eyebrow at the box that is nearly Hannibal’s height and fishes the house key out of his pocket. Hannibal takes the box upstairs as Will unpacks their groceries and that’s all there is to it.

Until Will comes to bed.

Hannibal retired before him, something about wanting to do some reading in bed while Will remained in the kitchen filleting the _plah caho_ they got at the market. Will wants to smack himself for falling for such a lame excuse the second he enters their room and sees what the newest piece of furniture is.

Catty-corner from the bed is a full-length wood mirror. In it he can see Hannibal, nude, reclined on the bed as if Will knew he was waiting for him.

Will looks from where he stands in the doorway to Hannibal, to the mirror, and back again.

“You’re serious,” Will deadpans.

To anyone else Hannibal’s face hasn’t moved but Will can see the grin there all the same.

“I am,” he says. His eyes are so bright. “If you want me to, this would be something I’d like to show you,” he amends, ever watchful of the slightest bit of hesitance from Will. It’s a surprise he didn’t stop Will the first time he kissed him to ask if he was sure it was what he wanted.

Will walks forward, picks up one knee and presses it into the mattress. “Just what would you be showing me?” Will asks. He crawls onto the bed from the bottom, presses a kiss to Hannibal’s knee as he comes closer, a moth drawn to an unsafe flame.

“Us,” Hannibal answers. His hands come down, pull on the part of Will’s t-shirt covering the area between his shoulder blades. Will gets the hint and leans up on his knees, tugs the shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. He’s broken Hannibal of the habit of wincing whenever he leaves his clothes lying around before bed. As long as he picks them up in the morning, which he would anyway because Will is surprisingly neat, Hannibal lets him do as he pleases. Especially when it gets him into bed quicker.

The mirror is forgotten for a moment as Will lays himself flat over Hannibal, their bare chests pressed together. Hannibal’s hands slide between the slim amount of space between them to undo the button and zipper of Will’s jeans as Will begins pressing kisses to the underside of his jaw. He always smells so good here, right over his pulse. Spicy like peppercorn, floral like thyme. Will runs his tongue over the stubble covered skin, is rewarded with a sigh.

Between them Hannibal is hard, already was when Will arrived, and Will himself isn’t far behind him. Hannibal reaches into his jeans and strokes him from base to tip, pressing his thumb just underneath the head. _There’ll be no foreplay tonight then_ , Will thinks. It’s just as good to him. He wasn’t expecting this but, now that it’s happening, he thinks of the low simmer he felt when he stood in Hannibal’s ostentatious bedroom all the years ago and he’s pushing his jeans off his hips along with his boxers, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He gets Hannibal’s right nipple in his mouth and gives it a quick bite, followed by a gentle suck. Hannibal pushes up into it, pulling in a breath.

With his left hand Will reaches out to the bedside table where he knows there is always a bottle of lubricant. His hand almost connects with the wood when he feels Hannibal tugging him back by the wrist. The look he starts to give Hannibal is a silent question of “huh?” but then Hannibal’s moving his hand by the wrist, guiding it between them, pushing it low. Will’s brow twists in confusion that wouldn’t normally be there were it not for how little of his blood is going to his brain. Hannibal nudges their hands underneath him and then Will can feel how slick he is, and he shudders out a groan before he can stop himself. Hannibal laughs, satisfied, and lets go of Will’s wrist to push his fingers into Will’s hair. He tilts him by his brown locks until their lips meet at the exact moment Will pushes his middle finger into where Hannibal’s already wet and open for him. “Fuck,” Will moans out against his mouth. He’s loose and hot and Will is just now realizing he took a lot longer than he said he would portioning out the fish for tomorrow’s dinner. Hannibal had at least forty five minutes to work his fingers in and out of himself, alone in their bed while Will was none the wiser. He’s a little peeved he didn’t get to watch.

Which brings him back to the mirror.

“C’mere,” he tells Hannibal and is tugging him up by the arms. They rise together and Will guides him to his stomach facing the fireplace. Facing the mirror. As Hannibal settles with his arms pillowed underneath his head, Will watches them in the reflection of the glass. He can suddenly vividly remember visiting Hannibal in the BSHCI, watching him behind the glass that would sometimes reflect his own image back at him when the lights were turned down in the evenings. Several times his reflection merged with what he saw of Hannibal on the other side.

Now the only reflection is that of both of them, here in the bed they share. Will can see all of his scars with perfect clarity. He considers them all to be Hannibal’s. The smile on his stomach, the crooked line on his forehead, even the slit in the side of his face. He watches his skin move as he leans over Hannibal, places a kiss to the back of his neck. Hannibal sighs and melts further into the bed. He isn’t looking in the mirror, which slightly surprises Will, but he himself can’t seem to turn away. The world’s most wanted man lies underneath him, sated like a cat after a big bowl of milk. Not for the first time, Will is struck with the knowledge that he could crack Hannibal’s spine clear in half in times like this-- in times when Hannibal lets him have whatever he wants. What he wants is always Hannibal.

The natural tan of his skin offsets the ever-present pale of Will’s beautifully. He presses himself down into Hannibal’s skin like he’s trying to crush him (maybe he is) and sighs into the crook of his neck when Hannibal pushes his ass back against his groin. They rock like that for a moment. Hannibal is so wet between his cheeks when Will pushes his cock there just to rut against his hole and they both let out a soft moan at the friction.

Eyes off the mirror, Will backs up to kneel between Hannibal’s legs. He grips each of Hannibal’s hips and pulls him onto his knees. Hannibal goes to lift himself onto his elbows and Will leans forward, places a hand on the back of his skull. He doesn’t say _down boy, stay_ but he might as well. Hannibal stretches his arms over his head, grabs the duvet in two fistfuls. Will takes a moment to admire his form, the arch of his back, marred by the thick Verger brand just off center. He presses his hand over the scar, covering it with his own skin. With his other hand he swipes his thumb over Hannibal’s hole, smiling at the way Hannibal’s hips twitch, and rubs it around the tip of his dick, getting it wet. It isn’t the excess of lube they use when he and Will switch positions, but he knows without asking that Hannibal likes the burn and tug of it. He looks up, or down, with eyes that say “it hurts” and a mouth that says “more, Will, more”.

The first push into Hannibal is always the most intense. It always threatens to undo him right then and there and wouldn’t _that_ be a shame. Other than the first time they had sex, when Hannibal came so quick that had he been anyone other than himself, he would’ve been embarrassed, Hannibal has the stamina in this relationship. Will always has to pull himself back, bite his lip, think of a particularly horrendous librarian from high school. Hannibal is so tight around him, already panting against the bedspread, and after Will sinks into him fully he has to stop, his hips flush with Hannibal’s ass.

“ _Shit,_ ” he moans. Hannibal is flexing his muscles around his dick, trying to get used to the intrusion or to make Will lose himself sooner, Will doesn’t know.

He keeps his hand over the brand on Hannibal’s back, bringing his other to rest alongside it. He presses into Hannibal’s spine and is rewarded with a low moan and the arch in Hannibal’s spine deepening. His chest is flat against the bed, his knees at perfect ninety-degree angles. He shouldn’t be so limber for his age, he shouldn’t be able to twist himself into any position he wants while Will is inside him, but here he is. Every wet dream and every nightmare Will has ever had made flesh. 

Will dares a glance to the mirror again. He almost doesn’t recognize himself. Draped over Hannibal with nearly his full weight on his palms against Hannibal’s back they look like they could be a two-toned monster that crawled up out of hell to devour Will whole in his sleep. It’s the most viscerally sensual thing he’s ever seen that before he can plan for it he’s pulled his hips away from Hannibal’s ass and slamming back in, jolting Hannibal further down the bed. Hannibal gives a sharp moan that could be pain but Will can’t stop, he presses his weight further on his palms and fucks Hannibal deep, his eyes nearly black where they stare into the glass of the mirror.

Underneath him, Hannibal holds his form perfectly but if Will could look away from their reflections, he would see the effort straining in Hannibal’s forearms as he holds on as tightly as he can to the cover underneath him. Their bodies come together with so much force he has to use the cover as leverage to push him back onto Will so he doesn’t go flying off the edge. He doesn’t think he’s ever moaned this loudly but above him Will is, uncharacteristically, nearly silent. His mouth is agape, breath coming quick, his eyes wide and singularly focused across the room. Hannibal rolls his neck to lock his eyes onto Will’s in the mirror and what he sees there has his cock leaking onto the bed.

Will looks _monstrous_.

He resembles the being Hannibal encountered on the cliffside more than he has at any other time; the only thing missing is the blood dripping from his maw. He grunts with each perfectly angled thrust, fingernails sinking into the skin of Hannibal’s back.

When Will catches him looking from where his face is smashed into the bed he actually _growls_.

Quick as lightning Will is pulling Hannibal up onto his elbows. The slick sweat of his hands slides underneath Hannibal, across his stomach, down to his cock. He doesn’t stroke, just holds the weight of it in his hands. Hannibal’s eyes roll as Will tightens his hand at the base but Will gets his other hand in Hannibal’s hair and jerks his head back, steers his gaze back to the mirror. “Look,” Will orders, and Hannibal can hardly keep himself up for the way it makes his knees weaken. “Look at what you do to me.”

Will resumes his brutal pace, his fist still tight at the base of Hannibal’s skull. The angle forces Hannibal’s mouth open in a perpetual scream. Will’s hand leaves Hannibal’s cock and in the motion Hannibal hears the unspoken command: _you’ll come like this or not at all_.

He has no intentions of disappointing Will.

Behind him, Will experiences something akin to religious salvation. Hannibal is so tight around him, tighter than he should be. Will knows he’s keeping his kegel muscles locked for him, doing everything he can to push Will closer to the edge of the orgasm that’s waiting for him and threatens to rip him in half. “God, Hannibal,” he moans, and his hips don’t falter for a second. “Look at you. _Look_ at you. Look at how you take it.”

Hannibal’s smiling as much as he can with his mouth open wide. The sharpness of his teeth glints in the low light of the bedroom and Will cannot help but think of him as a fanged beast that he alone has leashed and tamed. He has him pinned down under glass like a rare butterfly that only Will’s magnifying glass is privy to.

Will lets go of Hannibal’s hair to take him by both hips. The order to keep looking at both of them in the reflection of the mirror is unspoken but heard nevertheless. “ _Will,_ ” Hannibal groans around a particularly forceful thrust that is counteracted by Will pulling him back onto his cock with just as much vigor. “Will, have mercy.”

Will laughs aloud, watches his face twist in the mirror. His pleasure wracked brain pulls his own voice from a distant memory-- _there is no mercy; we make mercy, manufacture it in parts that have overgrown our basic reptile brain._ He laughs again, pushing his cock deeper, digging his fingers into the meat of Hannibal’s hips. “No. There is no mercy.” Before Hannibal can process that, Will’s pulling out of him, using all the strength in his arms to flip Hannibal onto his back with a grunt. He pushes him towards to side of the bed and Hannibal goes with the motion until his head nearly hangs over it, the mirror and everything else in the room an upside-down image. Will lines his cock back up and pushes in, his hands in the hollows behind Hannibal’s knees pushing them up almost flat to his chest. If he pushes any further Hannibal will go tumbling off the side of the bed and Hannibal must realize this because he reaches out blindly, finds Will’s forearms and holds on tight.

It’s so hard not to come once he’s back inside that Will has to look away from the mirror for a moment and bite his cheek. He squeezes his eyes closed, moves over Hannibal deep but slow in the way he knows the other man likes. Instantaneously Hannibal’s hands tighten on his arms and he cranes his neck up to look at Will with eyes wide, seemingly seeing right into the core of him. “ _Will,_ ” he gasps and it sounds like _please_ and _love_ and _yes_ and _there_ and then he’s coming across his own chest, his cock jerking and lifting off his abdomen as the come pulses out of him.

The sight is enough to undo Will, the mirror forgotten as he sees himself reflected in Hannibal’s eyes instead. With a final thrust he buries himself to the hilt, falls over Hannibal to press his face into his breastbone and gasp his name as he empties himself inside him.

They lay there for several moments, sweat covered and gasping. Will turns his head to the side to press against Hannibal’s heart and hear the quickened thumping of what keeps the man he loves alive.

When Will unlocks their bodies it feels like something akin to losing a limb. The thought reminds him of the fate that befell Bedelia at their hands and he smiles as he lowers Hannibal’s legs back down to the bed and offers him a hand to pull him off of the edge.

They settle in the middle of the bed, lying on their sides and gazing at each other, the poses of their bodies a perfect replica of the other. Will tucks his arm under his head and Hannibal, tracking Will’s every movement with his dark eyes, lifts his arm to do the same. Will quirks a brow and watches as Hannibal does too. It occurs to him what Hannibal is doing and Hannibal smiles back at him.

They simultaneously lift the hands that aren’t under them up to each other and press their palms flat against one another’s. Will feels the unvoiced promise as surely as if Hannibal had said it aloud-- _I am your reflection, as you are mine. We are the same._

Will nods towards the mirror over Hannibal’s shoulder and Hannibal turns. Will nudges him until he rolls fully and Will can pull him back against his chest in a tight embrace. It’s not the way they typically sleep but this way he can see Hannibal, can see Hannibal seeing him. Can see the whole of them: two bodies, one beast. 

Will is pondering on the tools he would need to safely mount a mirror to the ceiling when they fall asleep, the position of their bodies a perfect copy of one another’s. 

**Author's Note:**

> just another little oneshot bc i’m apparently obsessed with writing those!! thank you for reading <3


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